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And you hand me a can, cracking it open as you do so… It’s a bog-standard rom-com, a 90s film I just caught on the TV. And I’m a girl, hell, a woman, aren’t I, and we both smile, laugh, and I take a sip.
She goes straight upstairs, barely acknowledging me, and I hear her crash down onto the bed in the room above me. No secrets here, The guy, you, you say I can stay and finish the film, pours a drink… Yeah, yeah, at almost 19 I’ve been drinking for four years or more already… You, I can feel you next to me, dark, moody, and I think you might be looking at me, but when I peer discreetly out of the corner of my eye, nope, your eyes are staring at the TV screen, not noticing me, now talking. And I push my arse back into the cushion behind me and relax. A buddy leant you it, and then you just wink, all casual, told you to watch it with a girlfriend sometime.
I had been living with him in his suburban home for four years.
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And, not meaning to, I chew my bottom lip and pour a swig of cider down.
Sweet, rum maybe, but my nose ain’t as refined as it’s going to be, smoky.
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He had had other long-term, live-in boyfriends but, as he made perfectly clear to me when we started seeing each other, he had always dumped them when he felt that they were getting too old; somewhere around their twenty-fifth birthdays.